“You mean he wore a … a seaweed skirt?” Aria laughed. “I would give anything to have seen that.”
Roar shuddered. “I’m glad I didn’t.”
“I can’t believe you never told me that story before.”
“I was saving it for the right moment.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Roar.” The story had pulled her from her worries for a little while, but they returned too quickly.
Gingerly, she pulled up her sleeve. The skin around the Marking was still red and scabbed, but the swelling had gone down. In some places it looked like ink had been smudged inside her skin. It was a mess.
She reached out and rested her hand on Roar’s forearm. For some reason, this seemed easier. Maybe it took less courage to just let herself think than to speak her worries aloud.
What if this was a sign? Maybe I’m not supposed to be an Outsider.
He surprised her by taking her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “You already are an Outsider. You fit everywhere. You just don’t see it yet.”
She stared at their hands. He’d never done that before.
Roar gave her a droll look. “It’s just odd having you lay your hand on my arm all the time,” he said, responding to her thoughts.
Yes, but this feels intimate. Don’t you think it does? I don’t mean that I think we’re being too intimate. I guess I do. Roar, sometimes it’s really hard to get used to this.
Roar flashed a grin. “Aria, this isn’t intimate. If I were being intimate with you, trust me, you’d know.”
She rolled her eyes. Next time you say something like that, you should toss a red rose and then leave with a swish of your cape.
He gazed off like he was imagining it. “I could do that.”
They fell into silence, and she realized how comforting it felt being connected to him this way.
“Good,” Roar said. “That’s the idea.”
His smile was encouraging. The last time I saw my mother, it was terrible, she admitted after a while. We were fighting. I said all the wrong things to her, and I’ve been regretting it since then. I think I always will. Anyway, I didn’t want to do that with Perry. I thought it would be easier to just leave.
“And I’m guessing you were wrong?”
She nodded. Leaving is never easy.
Roar watched her for a long moment, the hint of a smile in his eyes. “That’s not anxious nonsense, Aria. It’s what’s happening. It’s truth.” He squeezed her hand and let go. “Please don’t ever spare me that.”
When Roar fell asleep, she dug her Smarteye out of her satchel. It was time to check in with Hess again. For days, she’d been picturing Talon with his legs swinging over the pier. Now her stomach tightened as she remembered Hess’s threat. She chose the Hess icon on her Smartscreen and fractioned. When she saw where she was, every muscle in her body went rigid.
The Paris Opera House.
From her spot at center stage, she stood in stunned silence, absorbing the familiar opulence of the hall. Tiers of gilded balconies wrapped around a sea of red velvet seats. Her eyes traveled higher, to the colorful fresco nestled in the domed ceiling, lit by the brilliant grand chandelier. She’d been coming here since she was just a young girl. This Realm—more than anywhere—felt like home.
Her focus moved beyond the orchestra pit to the seat directly in front of her.
Empty.
Aria closed her eyes. This had been her place with Lumina. She could imagine her mother there, in her simple black dress, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, a gentle smile on her lips. Aria had never known a more reassuring smile. A smile that said, Everything will be all right and I believe in you. She felt that now. A stillness. A certainty. Everything would work out. She clung to the feeling, locking it in her heart. Then slowly she opened her eyes, and the feeling seeped away, leaving questions that burned in the back of her throat.
How could you leave me, Mom? Who was my father? Did he mean anything to you?
She’d never have answers. She would only have an ache that stretched backward and forward and kept going as far as she could see.
The stage lights clicked off, and then the audience lights. Suddenly she stood in blackness so complete that her balance wavered. Her ears thrummed to their full power, ready to seize any small sound.
“What is this, Hess?” she said, annoyed. “I can’t see.”
A spotlight sliced through the darkness, blinding her. Aria lifted her hand, shielding her eyes from the light and waiting for them to adjust. She could just make out the dark void of the orchestra pit below and the rows of seats beyond. High above, thousands of crystals from the grand chandelier twinkled.
“A bit theatrical for you, isn’t this, Hess? Are you going to sing Phantom of the Opera to me?” On a whim, she sang a few lines of “All I Ask of You.” She’d only meant to play around, but the lyrics swept her up. The next thing she knew, she was thinking of Perry and singing.
She’d missed the way the hall amplified her control and power. This stage had never been mere boards on which to stand. It was alive—shoulders that propped her up and lifted her higher. When she finished, she had to cover her emotion with a smile. “No applause? You’re hard to please.”
His silence was going on too long. She pictured the small marble-topped table, the delicate saucers filled with coffee—all absent for the first time—just as an arrogant voice broke through the silence.
“It’s good to see you again, Aria. It’s been a while.”
Soren.
Dead ahead, roughly four rows back, she saw a shadowed figure silhouetted against the darkness. Aria rolled onto the balls of her feet and breathed steadily as images flashed before her eyes. Soren, chasing her as fire raged around them. Soren, on top of her, crushing her throat with his hands.
This was the Realms, she reminded herself. Better than Real. No pain. No danger. He couldn’t hurt her here.
“Where’s your father?” she asked.
“Busy,” Soren answered.
“So he sent you?”
“No.”
“You hacked your way in.”
“Hacking is something you do with a machete. This was a minor incision with a scalpel. Your mother would’ve liked that analogy. This is where you used to come with her, isn’t it? I thought you’d like coming back.”
The amusement in his voice made her stomach churn with anger. “What do you want, Soren?”
“A lot of things. But right now I want to see you.”
To see her? She doubted it. Revenge seemed more likely. He probably blamed her for what happened that night in Ag 6. She wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Aria tried to fraction out of the Realm.
“That won’t work,” Soren said, just as a message appeared on her screen, telling her the same. “Nice try, though. I liked the song, by the way. Touching. You’ve always been amazing, Aria. Really. Sing some more. I like that story. There’s a horror Realm about it.”
“I’m not singing to you,” she said. “Turn the lights back on.”
“He’s deformed, isn’t he? The Phantom?” Soren continued, ignoring her. “Doesn’t he wear the mask to hide how hideous he is?”
There was another way out of the Realms. Aria shifted her focus to the real and curled her fingers around the edges of the Smarteye. She knew the pain of ripping off the device. A shocking ache that burned in the back of her eyes and ran like fire down her spine. She wanted out of there, but she couldn’t bring herself to tear it off.
Soren’s voice pulled her back to the Realm. “By the way, that blue dress in Venice was deadly. Thoroughly sexy. And champ move with the coffee. You shocked the hell out of my father.”
“You’ve been watching me? You’re disgusting.”
He snorted. “If you only knew.”
He’d toy with her as long as she allowed it. Aria took a few steps to the side, beyond the reach of the spotlight. Darkness settled over her—a relief this time. There. Now they were even.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Soren’s voice climbed in panic, spurring her on.
“Stay there, Soren. I’ll come down to you.” She wasn’t, really. Aria couldn’t see beyond the tip of her nose. But let him imagine her lurking in the darkness for a bit.
“What? Stop! Stay where you are!”
She heard a resounding thump-thump, like limbs sprawling. Then the lights came back—all of them—lighting up the lavish hall.
Soren had stumbled into the center aisle. He stood there, keeping his back turned to her. His breath was ragged, and his thick shoulders strained against his black shirt. He’d always been solid muscle.
“Soren?” One second passed. Two. “Why aren’t you facing me?”
He grasped the seat beside him like he needed to steady himself. “I know my father told you. Don’t act like you don’t know what happened to my jaw.”
She remembered and finally understood. “He told me it had to be reconstructed.”
“Reconstructed,” he said, still facing away from her. “That’s such a tidy way to describe the five fractures and burns that needed to be fixed on my face.”
Aria watched him, fighting the pull she felt to go to him. Finally she cursed herself for being too curious, and climbed down the stairs. Her heart beat wildly as she walked past the pit and up the aisle. She made herself keep going until she stood in front of him.
Soren stared down at her with brown eyes that swam in rage, his lips pulled in a tense, grim line. He was holding his breath, just as she was.
He looked the same. Tan. Big-boned. Handsome in a harsh way, the angles of his face just a little too sharp. He held his chin at a condescending tilt. She couldn’t help but compare him to Perry, who never seemed to look down at people despite being much taller.
Soren hadn’t changed except for one significant difference. The set of his jaw was slightly off, and a scar ran through his bronzed skin, from the left corner of his mouth down to his jawbone.
Perry had given him that scar. That night in Ag 6 he had stopped Soren from strangling her. She’d be dead if Soren didn’t have that scar. But she knew he hadn’t been in his right mind. He’d been affected by Degenerative Limbic Syndrome—a brain disease that weakened basic survival instincts. It was the same disease her mother had studied.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” she said. She knew what it was like in Reverie. No one had scars. No one even had scratches. But she couldn’t believe what she was saying. Was she really consoling Soren?
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Not bad? When did you get to be so funny, Aria?”
“Recently, I guess. You know, they’re all scarred on the Outside. You should see this one guy, Reef. He’s got this deep scar across his cheek. It’s like a zipper running through his skin. Yours is … I mean, you can barely see it.”
Soren narrowed his eyes. “How’d he get it?”
“Reef? He’s a Scire. Those are Outsiders who … never mind. I don’t know for sure, but my guess is that someone tried to cut his nose off.”